Chimera
by TMBlue
Summary: COMPLETE! rhrlove's 2010 V-Day Challenge Entry: She knew what she wanted even then, when she feared her dreams would never come true. But if she can still imagine things as she always hoped they'd be, maybe she still has a reason to be optimistic


**Chimera**

_**A/N:** This story was part of **rhrlove[dot]com's 2010 R/Hr Valentine's Day Challenge**. It is posted over on rhrlove[dot]com, and you should really check the V-Day Challenge entries out because there were sooo many amazingly talented writers and artists who took part! _

_Also, thanks so, so much to my incredible beta, **emmacmf**, who proofed this story for me before I sent it off for the challenge! xx_

_The V-Day Challenge entries were prompt based, and here was the prompt I selected: "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." - When Harry Met Sally_

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**London.**  
**Boxing Day, 3am, 1996.**

She sat at her desk, facing her bedroom window, but her eyes were cast down, studying the contents of the large volume opened to what she knew to be a random page, though she was doing a good job of appearing engrossed. Years of practice, she supposed. She'd always been distracted. Well, ever since he'd... changed.

She froze for a moment, showing no other outward signs of having even thought of him.

She turned a page, brushed hair from her eyes, and continued along, instantly forgetting what the previous page had been on about... the addition of two potions to form a compound of lesser strength? But which potions...

Her eyes slipped shut as she bit her lip.

...and she could almost see his freckled hand on her cauldron, moving it closer to take a look at her perfect brew, months back when they'd been speaking...

She opened her eyes. And she froze again.

This wasn't going to work.

She changed course, opting to stare out the frosted glass of her bedroom window.

She gasped almost inaudibly. It was snowing! How long had she been sitting here, oblivious? Was she really that... uninteresting?

No wonder he hadn't chosen her.

Her eyes watered, though she could pretend that the way the lights blurred and stretched was a reaction to the soft snow falling lazily down between her eyes and the lamps on the street two floors below. Not because she was close to tears. Not because of him.

But as she continued to stare forward, trying not to blink, refusing to allow a wayward tear to fall free from the prison she had locked it in, something... shifted. The snow fell more insistently, though the calm of the winter night was still prevalent enough to mesmerize her as she watched. The street and sidewalk were virtually coated now. But no one was out tonight.

She glanced at her clock, cringing as she accepted that the street was empty because it was nearly three in the morning.

"Might as well," she muttered as she pushed her chair back and stood, gathering her coat and gloves and hat and scarf. She was up. She wasn't tired. And all she tried to do to distract herself from him simply led her back to him again. It was hopeless.

She exited her room as quietly as she could, tiptoeing across the landing so as not to wake her parents, down two flights of polished wood steps, and into the foyer. The grooved glass panes set in the mahogany of the front door sparkled brightly with the reflection of the streetlamps off the white road and yard beyond, and she smiled. It felt unreal, in some way, the world covered in a blanket of pristine perfection... only to be ruined with the morning commute, car tracks cutting crude paths through magic.

She happily reveled in being the one to discover it, to experience it. Alone.

She slipped her feet into her boots and opened the door. A gentle gust of cold air hit her face, cooling her as she stepped out and shut the door behind her. Her breath hung in the air, no breeze to carry it as it emerged from her with each exhale, forming puffs of fog that appeared to dissipate in slow motion.

Her feet hit the soft snow lightly, boots setting wide footprints that she regretted as she reached the road. She tried to be more careful, feet even lighter.

She turned right, looking down the street, admiring how it reminded her of a fairy tale, something perfect. It was a welcomed relief. She looked up, allowing the thick snow to fall on her cheeks and forehead, attaching to her eyelashes and frizzy fringe. She closed her eyes, smiling, calm.

And then...

"Hermione?"

She twisted around so quickly that she nearly fell, extending her arms to balance as she regained her footing, now staring, wide-eyed, down the street in the other direction... towards _him_.

Her jaw dropped.

"What the hell are you doing? !" she hissed, cheeks already red, and not just from the cold.

"Lovely greeting," Ron said from at least thirty feet away, hands in his pockets, awkwardly rocking back on his heels. Tips of thick ginger hair stuck out from under the maroon wool cap he wore, clearly something his mother had made him, though Hermione hadn't seen it before...

She was speechless. What was he doing here? ! How was this happening? ! And, more importantly, _why _was it happening? !

The re-introduction of 'why' into her vocabulary suddenly brought her to her senses, alerting her. Her expression changed to one of concern.

"Has something happened?"

"What...what do you mean?" he asked, breathing out quickly. Her eyes glued themselves to the fog of his breath as it drifted away from his face like lazy cigarette smoke.

She groaned frustratedly, throwing her arms up in exasperation, still unwilling to move closer to him. She was furious with him, wasn't she? So... why!

"You can't just show up in the middle of the night and not expect me to ask questions!"

"I'm not... I..." he stammered, nervously disrupting the snow with the toe of his shoe.

"Don't do that," Hermione said irrationally as she stared at the mess he was making.

He looked up and met her eyes from their strained distance apart, his feet still now, but obviously not because she'd willed it. He had no idea what she was saying. It was written all over his face.

"Don't do what?" he puzzled.

"You were ruining it," she said softly, voice almost cracking on the last syllable, but she made it through.

"Ruining what?"

She sighed. She was sick of this. She didn't need to answer his ridiculous questions. Not now. He was standing in the middle of her street... at three o'clock in the bloody morning!

"Never mind that! Explain what you re doing here. Now."

His furrowed brow turned a bit more apprehensive, and she could see, finally, the blush on his cheeks, though it was obviously from the cold. _Obviously_... He'd never-

"I came here with George. He was at the Burrow with Fred, until they decided to head home, to their flat in Diagon Alley. So, I asked George if he could bring me... here."

Hermione's mouth fell open from shock.

"You came here, side-along, with George? ! So where is he now?"

"Around," Ron said simply, shrugging.

Absurdity. Ron had no reason to come here, none at all.

"What could you possibly need to come here for?" Hermione asked harshly, crossing her arms over her chest now and huffing.

Yes, it almost seemed to work, anger. She could mask almost anything beneath her irritation. And it worked perfectly with him too. He never caught the truth hidden there, cheeks red because he'd pissed her off, not because she could feel his eyes on her like an x-ray machine. No. Not because every move he made, every gesture, caused her heart to break, knowing she d not have him here forever.

"I wanted to uh... talk to you?" Ron shrugged, his voice pitching up at the end like he was asking her a question.

"Did you or didn't you?" She couldn't resist.

He sighed a frustrated sigh and kicked the snow again.

"I told you not to do that!" Hermione shouted before she could stop herself.

"Oh..." he said slowly, catching on as he stopped moving his feet. "Messing up the snow, you mean?"

"Ron, stop changing the subject."

He flinched, as if stung. Confused, she reviewed what she'd said. It couldn't have just been from the _way _she'd said it. She watched him shiver, entranced.

"Look, I didn't just tell George to bring me here," he said quickly.

She stared at him, breath coming faster for some reason, heart beat quickening as he looked down, unable to meet her eyes as he continued. They were still so awkwardly far apart. Maybe he wouldn't notice if she stepped just a bit closer?

"I... I went to Lavender's first."

Her foot hung in the air where she had prepared for a step towards him. And instead of continuing in his direction, she swung her leg and stepped backwards, arms locking tighter over her chest.

Anger rose, true anger. And tears burned her eyes as she glared at him.

"Wonderful," she spat.

"Listen," Ron pleaded, and his voice was so close to a whisper that it was incredible she had even heard him.

She wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something! She wanted him gone, out of her sight. And at the same time, she felt she'd fall apart if she had to watch him walk away. She hated him. That was the only explanation. She had to hate him. Nothing else could make her feel this way.

"I broke up with her."

Her blood froze.

No.

No, no, no. She'd misheard. She was dreaming. Or she was going insane! Must be. Because this... wasn't real!

She laughed, and not kindly, and he looked up at her with large, apologetic eyes.

"Ron-" he flinched again "-you've got to be joking..." but her sentence trailed off into the distance as it hit her. His name! She'd said his name _before_, too! He was uncomfortable with her addressing him directly, using his name... hearing it come from her lips.

Her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach. The beauty of her little frosted world was fading.

"I-I'm not joking. I really did it," he said, voice shaking with nerves.

And her heart leapt up into her throat, light again. Too light. The snow fell faster.

She was frozen, watching him breathe.

He would never know how he was affecting her... But though her lips moved, spilling forth another frustrated retort, hope tugged her down, dragging her towards that lonely place built for undiscovered dreams, discarded, given up on...

"You expect me to believe-"

"Yes! Because it's the truth."

She stared at him. He stared back. Her heart resumed its place inside her chest, thumping wildly.

"Why did you come here to tell me this?" she asked tentatively, terrified of any answer, good or devastating. Though, as hard as she tried, she could think of no bad reason for him to announce his break up... to her... in the middle of the night... alone.

"Because I ruined everything. And I'm sure there's no fixing it now. But I wanted you to know that... that I tried."

He stood frozen, still so far away, and her lips parted as a million different options of how to respond floated away from her. She couldn't catch a single one before it vanished. And he turned away.

Fear rose in her throat and she could hardly breathe. If he left her now...!

But he simply moved to the edge of the road and sat on the sidewalk, feet still planted on the road, but lightly. And she could tell that he was trying very hard not to upset the billows of fluffy snow that had piled up at an angle towards the curb.

A silent sob slipped out from between her parted lips as she watched him, elbows on his knees as he stared down at the snowy road between his legs. His wool cap was virtually coated in large flakes of white. He moved a hand between his knees, and she couldn't see what he was doing.

Her feet felt like lead as she lifted them one after the other, footsteps crunching now as she allowed her weight to fully compact the bliss beneath her feet. She was close, moving closer.

She had to say something!

"Y-you-" he froze exactly where he was, head still down, "-came all this way to break up with her, and then to tell me about it? !"

One more time, another clarification to seal it all for good. If he said yes, that one little word-

"Yes," he said.

She covered her mouth with both of her gloved hands, eyes squinted against a rush of tears.

His hand moved again between his legs, and she still couldn't see what he was doing, but all she could think of was his voice, of his 'yes', of how much she... loved him.

He stood. She had to stop him, but her voice had left her again. He shoved his hands into his pockets, still looking down. And then, shoulders heaving with a sigh, he really did turn to leave, heading slowly down the sidewalk, away from her.

She felt compelled for some reason to look down, to see what he'd done. And through the haze of the nearly impossible need to run after him - snog him, row with him, _punch _him - her eyes flicked down.

He had written in the snow, rounded letters with his index finger. Lowering her hands from her mouth, she moved closer, just two more steps to make it out clearly...

_Happy Christmas, Hermione. I'm sorry_.

"Ron, wait!" she cried, head snapping up to find him. He hadn't gone too far. How she hoped he'd known she'd call to him, that he was waiting for her too.

He froze but didn't turn to face her.

"What did you say to George," she began, voice laced with the tears that were still falling in warm streaks down both of her cheeks, "when you asked him to bring you here?"

Now he turned around. And he looked at her. _Right _at her.

He was as brave as she had always known he was.

"I told him that... I'd been a prat to you and needed to apologize. And that, in order to do it properly, I had to break up with Lavender first."

"You said that? !" she whispered, shocked.

"Yeah," Ron admitted, another thick breath fogging in front of his face as he sighed. "God, he'll be teasing me until I'm forty."

They breathed and stared.

"I made you cry," he said after a moment.

"Ron..." she said as she slowly moved closer. He tensed up and she stopped. "Whenever I say your name," she began desperately, the rest of her words getting lost somewhere between her throat and her lips as she resisted new tears.

"Yeah," he said, understanding her lack of words. "Haven't heard you say it in a while."

"Is it so bad?" she whispered, stuck twenty feet away from him.

"No!" he announced immediately. "No, I just don't really..."

She waited, somehow knowing he'd complete his thought. But first, he closed ten more feet of space between them. And though he was still too far away, she irrationally sensed his body heat.

"I missed hearing you," he admitted, a solid blush on his cheeks now. It wasn't just the cold. It wasn't! And she knew it. Finally. "Just kind of... reminds me... of how much I lost."

"Lost?" she asked, entwined with him in the space that still remained - ten more feet. She willed him closer. She couldn't make herself move. Not yet.

"You," he breathed.

She had a choice to make. If she did what she wanted, what she could hardly resist now, she'd tell him he hadn't lost anything, that she was here now and none of that mattered anymore. If she did what she thought she'd needed - before he'd shown up, broken up with his girlfriend, and looked into her eyes - then she'd tell him he was right, that he'd lost her. And the only way to get her back was to beg... and even then, if she was smart, she'd be more cautious.

But then... all the things she'd done - weren't they just as horrible? And had she really been honest with him? Neither of them could ever really speak the truth, explain what it was that lingered in their gazes, the ones that went on for just that fraction of a second too long, that held just a tiny bit more weight than they really should. Did it mean something to him, the way it did for her?

His eyes were on her, and he was trembling.

She needed to ask him...

"Are you cold?" Her unsteady voice shocked her, as if she hadn't used it for years and was trying to remember how.

"No," he said, still trembling.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she managed to say, terrified of his reaction, of what he might understand. But he looked down and bit his lip.

"Well, I can go."

"What?" she questioned, furrowing her brow. He hadn't understood at all, if he thought that was what she wanted.

"I never expected you to forgive me. Not that easily. I just wanted you to know what I'd done." He shrugged helplessly. "Was a bit rash, I suppose, coming here."

"I'm not asking you to leave," she said slowly.

His look of confusion was followed up by one of hope.

"You're not?"

She shook her head. And took a step. And another. And one more. And he was five feet from her. Yes, she could feel him. He _wasn't_ cold. Not at all. He was like a radiator, beckoning her closer. His face glowed in the streetlights, maroon hat clashing with his bright hair, freckles hidden beneath his blush.

"Answer one question, and I'll say I'm sorry too, and I'll forgive everything, and we can start again," she said quickly, before she could stop herself. Now she had to ask it, now that she'd told him she was about to. She would ask the one thing left, the one thing that had been playing on repeat since he'd told her he'd broken things off with Lavender...

His expression changed from hopeful to stunned to awed.

"We can?" he asked, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

"Yes," she whispered. "But you don't know what I'm going to ask you yet. Maybe you can't answer it."

"Hermione," he began, taking a step closer, "I'll answer anything if you'll really... if we can _really_..."

He took another half-step, and she shivered as his proximity became nearly unreal. She could lean forward and he would be able to support her without moving his feet. She would soon have to strain her neck to continue looking into his eyes.

"...if you'll really forgive me," he finished, overwhelmed.

Their gaze was lasting far beyond what was normal, far longer than a second too long to remain friendly... She could hardly breathe, but she managed, in order to ask him...

"Why did you really break up with Lavender?"

She watched as he swallowed, eyes darting between hers but never looking away. He bounced a bit, toes pressing down, packing the snow tightly beneath him. Was it the hardest thing for him to say, to answer her? There was a part of her that hoped it was, knowing that if he said what she longed to hear, then all those dreams she'd locked away would be set free. Nothing would matter anymore - not what they'd said or done, or how they'd been before...

But then she knew - she was being overly optimistic. And it always got her into such trouble. There were a million things he could say, and only one of them was the one she wanted to hear. A wave of fear coursed through her at the thought that her chances weren't great, not with odds like that. But then, caught in some force out of her control, her eyes were drawn to his lips as they parted, his tongue as it darted out to lick them swiftly... and his voice as he finally answered her question...

"Because... she's not you."

One in a million. A billion, perhaps.

She let another strangled sob escape, but she followed it up with a grin. And he stood staring down at her, anticipating.

"What if I kissed you right now?" she laughed through her tears.

His eyes widened considerably, blush somehow intensifying.

"I'd die happy," he laughed too, grinning, chest heaving as he tried to breathe properly.

He was close enough. In a flash, she'd reached out her right hand, grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and pulled, forcing him towards her. But he leaned into her, further than she knew she'd brought him.

To steady himself, he placed his hands on either side of her waist, but what he had unintentionally caused - their hips meeting seconds before their mouths - elicited two identical gasps before they were no longer able to make sounds that didn't echo into each other.

His kiss was so soft, like he was afraid of losing her. She looped her arms around him, under his jacket, pulling him closer, rising up on her tiptoes to lessen the strain on her neck.

She'd been kissed before. She had, though she liked to forget it.

But this...

Never before. No where close.

One of his hands moved to her cheek, while the other remained blissfully in place on her waist, so close to the top edge of her jeans. He was warm and solid and insistent but gentle as his tongue slid from his mouth to trail along her lips. She opened them with no more than a second s pause. And when their tongues met, she felt him tremble again, his back muscles moving under her hands through his shirt.

He pulled away, but not long enough to do anything more than grin and laugh excitedly, moving his hand behind her head to pull her in for more. She went willingly. With pleasure, in fact.

If asked, right then and there, she'd have had no idea who she was outside of him. And it was perfect.

When they parted a moment later, it was to breathe as if they'd forgotten it was necessary. All that had seemed required was between them in their kisses, mouths, tongues... hands.

"Is George waiting for you?" Hermione whispered, inches from his lips as he panted down at her.

"Sod George," Ron said with a sharp exhale.

For a moment, the silence of the falling snow enveloped them, like they were in their own world, one they had created.

She opened her mouth. She knew what she was about to say. It made her blush just to think of it.

"Don't go home at all."

Now that things were right, what was the point in waiting? Everything she wanted was right here. And now she knew the truth, that he wanted it too... with her! She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, so why shouldn't that life start now?

But the words she wanted to say never made it out. He crushed her lips again, and she closed her eyes.

She sensed something tugging in the background, but she shoved it away harshly.

NO! This was real and right and true and she would never let it go.

But she could feel it... slipping away.

With apprehension, she cracked open her eyes. His freckled face was still there, his lips still on hers... but the buildings around them were changing, thick dark trees lining the street. And then, the ground beneath her feet lost some of its stability.

She broke their kiss and glanced left. It was her mistake, she reckoned, for letting him out of her sight. Because when she looked back towards him again, he was gone.

"No!" she cried.

But it was much too late. And really, there could have been no help for it.

Her clothes were morphing into another set altogether. Her hair felt heavier - longer and messier. She was holding her wand... and a cold piece of metal in the same hand. And someone was calling her name as the world around her settled, stars springing forth, brighter than ever, though the streetlamps had dimmed and disappeared completely...

And she was back...

**The Forrest of Dean.**  
**Boxing Day, midnight, 1997.**

"Hermione? Hermione?"

She turned around, towards the sound of Harry's voice. He was standing in the tent entrance, looking a bit worried.

"You okay?" he asked. "Been calling your name for ages."

She'd almost gotten lost in it, a falsified memory that she could never really make true.

She slumped and sat, looking up at Harry until he sat beside her.

Wordlessly, she handed him the coin she'd been squeezing in her wand hand. It was still glowing, just barely, from its use. But it was over, and she couldn't use it again. Had it really been an hour? It had felt like seconds.

"What is this?" Harry asked, puzzling down at the coin he now held, watching as its glimmer faded completely.

"A chimera," she stated, twirling her wand sadly between her fingers.

"What does it do?" Harry asked.

"Let's you relive a memory, and change what you like about it, to make it right," she said softly.

"Really?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow as he studied the coin with more scrutiny.

Hermione nodded, though she knew Harry couldn't see her.

"Were you just using it, reliving something?" Harry asked, looking up at her now.

"Yes."

"And you can pick anything, any memory you like?" Harry looked highly intrigued, but soon changed expressions as he studied her. "You alright?" he asked, abandoning his unanswered question. But she wanted to answer it, now that it had been asked.

"Last Christmas, I sat in my room all night, trying to read, to think of anything that wasn't... him. And when I looked outside, it was snowing. I wanted to go out in it, to get lost."

She paused, replaying the moments she'd just created, willing them back, though they felt as elusive now as a forgotten dream. It wasn't that she couldn't recall them - they were there, forefront, as if she'd really lived them. But she knew, now that the chimera had lived its life, that it had been a fabrication. While inside the memory, she'd been able to lose herself in it and really believe in it.

Some magic. And what was she left with? Something she'd let happen, really, a dream she should have never allowed to take over.

"So..." Harry began slowly, "you imagined you played in the snow?" He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Not quite," she said. "I dreamt Ron came to see me."

Harry flinched and his eyes widened for a second, settling back to their normal size before he could look too shocked. She knew it was because she'd only said Ron's name once before now, one time since he'd left them in the middle of the woods weeks ago. It was strange to hear, even for her own ears, even after saying it so many times in her fabricated memory.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, tears prickling her eyes. "He's never coming back, is he."

"Hermione..."

"He wouldn't be able to find us. I know that. I know! But it's so bloody hard to believe it, that it's really over." Tears fell freely now, and she let them. What was the point in hiding?

"He came to see you, in your memory thing?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked over at him, nodding.

"Why?"

She hadn t been expecting this. Could she really explain? Didn't it sound a bit petty now that they were out here doing what they were doing, hunting and hiding and hoping? But she exhaled shakily, blinked at the reflection of the moon on the frost covered ground all around them.

"He went to break it off with Lavender, then he came to tell me."

Harry smiled a small, reminiscent smile.

"And," Hermione continued, "we were going to be together. Actually together. How I've wanted..."

"And how he's wanted," Harry added as he sat back against the tent pole behind him.

"Too late now," Hermione said with a teary, ironic smile.

Harry sat forward again.

"Do you have more of these? Or can you use this one more than once?" Harry asked, holding up the now-dull coin.

"No, why-" Hermione began, but Harry continued before she could say another word.

"He came back in this." He shook the coin in the air. "That's what you wanted, more than anything. And he loves you. So that means he's looking for us now."

"Harry," Hermione warned, fearfully of letting herself walk down this path. She'd been working so hard to be strong, to not place her heart in harm's way. And this, most definitely, was harm's way.

"No, listen! Hermione, if he doesn't find us - and I've been thinking about this already so you aren't allowed to say no - then we'll go to all the usual places, places he might be and-"

"Harry! We can't!" Hermione protested, but why was her heart beating so fast.

"Hermione, if we can track down the soul of the craftiest dark wizard of all time, we can surely find our git of a best friend. And he won't be hiding somewhere unsafe, will he. So we figure it out - I know you can - and we go."

Her chest moved rapidly as she breathed in Harry's incredible words... what she might be willing to call a promise.

"Why wait until the end, until we might be dead, to fix this?" Harry said, sounding far more logical than Hermione had expected after his completely illogical proposition.

"He's the one who ruined everything. It's his mess to clean up. And you can't risk yourself," she said rationally.

"Then you have to go," Harry said immediately, as if he had been holding that sentence back in anticipation of her protest.

"I can't leave you to do this on your own!"

"You won't be. You'll come back. With Ron."

Ron. Now Harry had said it. And it blinded her. She had not expected the impact of hearing Harry's voice, enunciating that one little word, to be so persuasive.

"This is mental," she whispered, holding onto the words and reveling in the way she knew Ron always said them.

Mental, he'd called her, over and over again...

"March," Harry said. "On his birthday. Yeah?"

Hermione laughed suddenly in all the absurdity of birthdays, of _his _birthday.

"He'd just better hope he finds us before then," she grinned, and Harry grinned back. "Either way, I'm going to kick his arse."

"I know you will," Harry said happily, eyes shining as if he longed for her proclamation to come true. And perhaps he did.

Harry handed her the coin and she took it, turning in over in her hand.

"I'll keep watch, Harry. You should sleep," Hermione said softly.

"No, Hermione," Harry said insistently, and she knew there would be no use arguing. "I'm alright now. I'll take first watch. Go to bed. But first, promise me something."

"Yes?"

"Don't make him suffer too long when he comes back."

"Aren't _you _still a bit hacked off that he left us?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow as she stood and brushed frost and leaves from her jeans.

"A bit," Harry said, almost narrowing his eyes. "But holy hell, Hermione, you've both been driving me mad rowing all the time. Just talk the bloody thing out and be done with it. Get all annoyingly romantic and start snogging and sleeping in the same bunk and-"

"Harry!" Hermione shouted through a laugh, looking down at him as she blushed. "Wouldn't that be _worse _for you than the rowing?"

"God, no," Harry said with exaggerated enthusiasm. "And anyway, you'd both be so happy that it would hardly be possible to be annoyed."

Hermione watched Harry smirking up at her for as long as she could take before her eyes prickled again with reality.

"Harry, do you really think, _really_, that we'll all be together again?" she asked timidly.

"Yes," Harry said, much more insistently than she had expected. "We're meant to be."

Hermione nodded slowly, trying to accept his words though she felt the weight of consuming doubt as she swallowed her tears.

"I want to believe you," she said.

"Then do."

"Thank you," she breathed as she watched Harry settle back, ready for his night watch. And she stretched out her arm, offering Harry her wand.

He nodded as he smiled up at her, taking her wand wordlessly, and with a sigh, she turned inward, ducking through the tent flap and out of sight. She'd been so sure of what she wanted, to spend the rest of her life with Ron. He was everything. And now, everything was gone.

But she was determined, renewed by Harry's strength and words, that if she had a life left to live at all, whatever bit she could still hold onto when this was over, she'd do anything to have that everything again.

Anything.

She tucked the chimera coin under Ron's pillow, holding her breath to avoid smelling him. It was too easy to fall apart when pieces still remained. Blocking them out was the only way to keep hoping, to not let the fear and doubt take over.

She'd let herself get carried away in her adjusted memory.

But why, this time, could she do nothing but smile, tears fading as she recalled the way he'd felt, what he'd said? Was it possible that all the things she'd imagined him to be, all those things were really in him somewhere, hidden under his fear of her rejection as she had been doing for so long now?

Yes. She didn't even have to ask herself. She simply knew.

Struck with awareness, moments - real ones - resurfaced with new information. He really looked at her the way she wanted him to! She had never let herself see it before.

She sat on her bunk, pulled her quilts over her body, and closed her eyes.

Well. Yes, if she saw him again - _when _she saw him - she would certainly be kicking his arse. But then... oh, then!

Then... would be the rest of her life.

* * *

_**A/N:** chimera - an illusion or fabrication of the mind; especially, an unrealizable dream._

_If you haven't riddled out the timeline, the story ends with Hermione falling asleep on the night of "The Silver Doe." Mere hours afterwards, Harry spots the doe and follows her to the pool... where Ron returns and saves his life :D  
_


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